


Maternal Instincts

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-08
Updated: 2006-01-08
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ever have an itch you just couldn't scratch?





	Maternal Instincts

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for [Slash Challenge](http://www.livejournal.com/community/slash_challenge). The scenario was "Post-War. Harry just wants a hug, but Snape only gives him a lecture." This is, I believe, my first stab at Harry first-person POV in anything longer than a drabble.  


* * *

The Wizarding World is pretty cruel. Maybe after nearly ten years of knowing of its existence, nothing should surprise me. These are the same people with spells that kill without a mark, produce horrific, hatred-fueled pain with the flick of the wrist, and that rape your mind with a smile on your face. Yet, every time I learn something new about it, I'm still caught off-guard. 

God, who knew the desire to be held could be so _strong_? 

This may not seem like a big deal. I mean, hugs are a dime a dozen. Hell, I could go off and get a hug from any number of people: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Molly, and, if I felt like it, probably some random patron of the Leaky Cauldron. And I tried that, I did, but Pettigrew -- coward, coward, GOD, what a coward, fucking _rat_ \-- knew _exactly_ what he was doing when he hit me with that spell before escaping again. I can't exactly get a hug from my mother, can I? 

_Tactilis maternum_. Not Dark magic -- not exactly, at least. Usually used on newborns that aren't nursing properly so they'll form proper bonds with their mothers. Rarely used in combination with locator spells so a missing child returns to the mother. No counter-spell. What would be the point? The mother usually casts it. There's not much information because it's considered so benign; I should know because I've read everything available. I'm the first person in history to be under its power as an orphan. 

Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Defeater of the Dark Lord, Top of His Auror Class, and Just Needs a Hug. 

It's kind of funny when you think about it. Especially if your idea of funny involves a constant itch under your skin, an almost painful constriction of your heart, and the drive to hold out your arms to every maternal-looking person. 

Now, what do I do? Can't work, so it's damned lucky that I have my inheritance to fall back on. I spend most days under my covers trying to get warm or researching, hoping I'll stumble across something. 

Piles of books surround me. Papers are strewn everywhere. I've been scratching my forearms and there are welts marring my skin. I'm still itchy. 

There's a knock at my door, but the visitor enters without waiting for a reply. 

Snape. Fuck Snape. He's obviously loving this; it makes me want to rush him and tear open his throat. _Laughing_ at me because my parents' _murderer_ got one off on me. Fuck him. 

His eyes go right to my arm. "Mr Potter, mutilating yourself won't help your situation." 

"With all due respect...fuck off, Professor." Ah, that feels good. Better than the scratching, at any rate. 

"Neither will moping around your flat, expecting someone else to come up with a plan to save you once again." 

I clench my jaw. "Because these papers all around me? That's me doing nothing, right? I know! Maybe they're recipes or lessons on how to be a proper homemaker! Fuck. You. Snape. I'm doing all I fucking can without leaving the house." 

Snape arches an eyebrow and fixes me with such a haughty stare that the urge to hurt him almost overrides the urge I have to fling myself in his arms. No, he's nothing near a maternal force, but he's the only warm body (relatively speaking) present. I wish he'd bugger off, but, of course, he approaches the desk. 

"I'll take it you're not interested in a cure, then?" 

This gets my attention. "Is it...did you make a potion? An antidote?" I stand and grab his wrist. I guess I was wrong, after all. He's practically burning. 

"Not an antidote." With his free hand, he reaches into the folds of his robes and retrieves a vial. Inside reside three strands of red-gold hair. 

Fuck. I release his wrist and grab the vial. "Are these...?" 

"Yes." I know better than to ask how he obtained them. Snape reaches into his robes again and retrieves a flask. I uncork the vial and, hand trembling, give him one of the hairs. He drinks, he changes, and opens up his arms. 

It's a good thing this works because I'm shaking so badly that I drop the vial. As I fling myself into my former-professor-cum-mother's arms, one itch disappears. An hour later, when he changes back, his hand is still tangled in my hair, I'm still in his arms, and I feel another itch begin. 


End file.
